by Ingrid Hahn
His own man.
What it had meant to him a few days ago and what that meant to him now were leagues apart. Before the princess—or whoever she was—his whole vision had been all about his land.
Last night it’d been a man who stood and fought… His grip tightened around the stick he’d been carrying as he made his way up the hill.
A man who stood and fought was everything he’d wanted to be. He’d had a taste. Brief, but intoxicating.
Today…
Birna frowned. “Thorvald?”
Ignoring his aunt, he stared at Alodie, stupidly repeating himself. “What are you doing here?”
Alodie spoke up. “Ozrik brought me here. After you left.”
“You lied.”
“I know.”
“You should have told me.”
“I almost trusted you with my secret and I’ve been nothing but thankful since the day we arrived that I didn’t. You don’t deserve my trust.”
“How…” He shook his head, still grappling with what it meant to have had her body but not her trust. “Why were you there when we demanded to see the princess?”
“For exactly the reasons that played out. If you brought harm upon any woman, it would not be the real princess. She would remain safe.”
Clever. He’d never doubted. Never questioned. All the time, he’d been secure thinking he’d had the advantage. It wasn’t always about strength, though, was it? He’d do well to remember. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She leveled him an unforgiving stare, boring right down to his center. “Why do you think I owe you more than I owe my own people? You stole me.”
“We had sex.”
She gaped, cheeks going bright with red spots.
Taken aback, he frowned and shook his head. “Do I embarrass you?”
There was one thing above all else he’d never wanted to be: a coward. Being the man a woman regretted came a close second. The idea that such a thing could be possible was nothing less than a sharp and cruel kind of torture. That it could be her regretting him came with an especially bitter twist. More had grown between them than simply wanting one another for a good rut.
Or so he’d believed.
Alodie’s lips were tight. “That’s private.”
Birna held up a hand. “I’ll leave for a few minutes. But only a few minutes.” She gave Thorvald the same look of displeasure she’d had for him as a boy when he’d gotten into mischief but had been old enough to know better.
She vanished back into the house, leaving him alone with Alodie in the bright sunshine. The village houses and buildings lay below them, the sparkling water of the fjord was in the distance, and woods behind them.
“I still want to know why you didn’t tell me.”
Alodie looked back to Thorvald. “Would it have made a difference if I had?”
It was the very question he’d struggled with the whole night.
She crossed her arms. “Because I don’t think it would have. You’ve been fixed on this undertaking to the detriment of all else. No matter what happened between us, you’ve shown no inclination to make any other choice but the one you started with.”
He tensed. It was true. Land, land, land. The dream that had seen him through so many dark winters and had kept him going through countless summer raids. Prove himself. Remain loyal. Make sure that no matter what, the jarl never had reason to make Thorvald’s greatest humiliation known.
He reassessed her. Not a princess. Was there any way he could have seen through her deception? She had none of the traits a woman of high station would have shown. It wasn’t that she wasn’t haughty or demanding. Neither was she sheltered or frail. She possessed a frank heartiness. The kind of woman used to confronting challenges while remaining level-headed and practical.
More than anything, it rankled that he hadn’t caught on himself. He was unaccustomed to playing the fool, even less accustomed to being forced to admit the cleverness of another had gotten the best of him. In this case, he deserved it. He’d been so blinded by all he wanted—all he’d thought he wanted—that he’d never taken the time to critically evaluate her.
“I almost did tell you, you know. That night on the beach after you fought Hrolf. You asked me to tell you about my past life. I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t.” She’d trusted him with her body. Nothing else. Nor should she have.
Guilt saturated the center of his being. Thorvald set his jaw. “Which left me to come last night just in time to hear of your deceit.”
This time when her cheeks reddened, it didn’t appear to be due to humiliation. “I will never be sorry for what I did. Never. You, on the other hand, have much to answer for.”
“Such as?”
“Coming so late, for one. For another—what is it he has on you that makes you do his bidding no matter how loathsome the task?”
The tightness around his lungs turned suffocating. He fought not to reveal any outward signs of his inner state. But the fact was, he had been too late. He should never have left the hall. He should have kept his head.
That he hadn’t would haunt him forever. “Why do you say such a thing?”
“Nobody keeps another this tightly in thrall without reason.”
It felt like talons from a giant bird of prey had sunk into his shoulders. “I gave him my vow—”
“For what reason? Why did you give it to him?”
Thorvald tensed. She was poking too near a vulnerable subject. “For honorable reasons.”
“Honorable reasons, indeed.” Her lip curled and she grunted. “You gave a vow to a despicable man and you know it.”
“A vow to a man is a vow to the gods.”
“And that, I suppose, is your justification?”
“It’s no mere justification.” He was starting to snap at her. She didn’t understand. “Would you have me go against everything?”
“Isn’t that what you were prepared to do last night?” Her dark gaze upon him was steady and unyielding. “In the pursuit of what is right, I would hope you would choose to sacrifice everything.”
“That’s what I’ve done.”
She pulled back in surprise. “You can’t really believe that.”
Once he had. It was right for him to get his land back.
Then she’d come into his life. He’d plucked her from the floor of the room where she’d prayed to her god and from that moment forward, they’d been linked. First, by his insisting upon protecting her. Quickly, it’d developed a bond between them. A bond strong enough to overpower them both. When they’d finally found themselves in one another’s arms…
“I thought you were a different man. The man I—the man who I…enjoyed is apparently not the man I thought he was.”
A hot flood of anger swept over him. What they’d done together meant something. “And just what do you imply?”
She shook her head. “Your existence isn’t solitary. You shouldn’t treat it as such. You’re not here alone. You’re here to work with those who need you. Your life is about how you connect with those around you.”
His mouth went dry and his heart began to pound.
Then she spoke the words he already knew. Those that were already resonating within him that needed no utterance for the force they already exerted upon him.
But say them she did. “And right now, you’re failing. Miserably.”
It was like sewing shut the last seam of a shroud around his body and tossing it into a shallow grave.
She kept speaking. “I’m glad you didn’t come last night.”
“What are you talking about? I did come.”
“Not in time, though, did you? It gave me time to prove to myself that I can survive. I can care for myself. I don’t need you.”
Thorvald had no time to respond. His aunt reappeared,
her face set in disapproval as she regarded him. He was disappointing her, too.
It was different with Birna. Their relationship would not be severed. Short of his turning coward in battle, what cause could he give her?
The question was, did Thorvald and Alodie have any kind of a connection? He’d begun to think so.
Or had he been fooling himself the entire time? Maybe she’d purposefully led him astray, sensing the strength of his desire for her, and making him believe she wanted him the way he wanted her.
The question landed on his lips, but dried quickly. He’d rather have his man parts mauled by a wild boar than hear her admit she’d never wanted him.
He just stood there, saying nothing, and they stared at one another. It seemed there could have been much more to say.
He was a warrior, curse his bones. And he’d dedicated his life to proving he was no coward. They were merely words, after all. The dangers of the battlefield were far worse.
Birna put her hands on either of Alodie’s shoulders and began leading her back into the house.
When Alodie was safely inside, Birna stopped at the door and glanced back at him. “What she did, she did for her people.”
“I know a pointed comment when I hear one.”
“Good. Then heed it.”
“She had someone worth standing up for.”
“And you don’t?” Birna let out a single laugh. “You have much to overcome if you think ever to set things to right.”
“Right? What has the jarl done that’s ever been right?” The idea that the jarl could be right about anything made Thorvald’s chest tighten with rage. Or that the jarl had created a world worth living in… It was wrong in every particular.
The jarl never divided treasure equitably. For himself, Thorvald had never much cared. What was silver to life-sustaining earth? Nothing. Silver was pretty enough to look at. Polished to shining, it could be enchanting. Like moonlight poured from the sky. But to feed oneself with it, one had to part with it. Better to have the means of feeding oneself in the first place. Hands. Tools. Animals. Seeds. Rain. Dirt.
But many did care about treasure. And those who’d gone raiding for it had deserved far more than what the jarl had allotted them. It had bred dissent among the warriors. Worse, thievery. They lied about what they took, so they could keep for themselves what they’d rightfully earned. There was no loyalty among men who lied to their jarl.
“I’m not talking about restoring order for the jarl. Whatever he has, he is desperate to keep, no matter what it costs the rest of us. We need a leader we can believe in. Someone fair. Someone who puts the interests of all of us ahead of the interests of his or her own self. We need things right for all of us.”
He listened in disbelief, her speech echoing everything he’d always thought Sigurd would do. How many times had he envisioned himself coming up alongside his cousin to support him when he went to battle? “And you expect me to accomplish this?”
“If not you, then who?”
She closed the door before he could answer.
Chapter Forty
Alodie and Birna
Alodie shut herself into the cool darkness of the hut, her morning meal sitting in her stomach like a bucket of mud. A blessed moment alone while Birna took a final word with Thorvald.
She took one shaky breath after another. Eyes closed, she saw herself brandishing the knife at the jarl. Taking care of herself, as she’d termed it just now. True. Against one old man whom she’d caught by surprise, she had been able to take care of herself.
The question Alodie been trying to ignore by thinking of carving the jarl was finally too much to overcome: would the trajectory of their lives have changed if she’d told Thorvald the truth about herself?
Certainly it would have. But for the better? Would they both have gotten what they wanted?
And what did they want? After all that had happened, did she still want him? Was there hope with a man like Thorvald? He was stubbornly loyal. Or so he appeared. What was really going on between him and the jarl?
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine being Thorvald. Strong. Powerful. Determined. Aggravating as an ox refusing to plow a ready field.
No. None of the derogatory nonsense bubbling up. That was inconsequential, colored by their personal interactions.
Alodie pressed a fist against the center of her chest. Underneath everything else was a man…she could hardly dare admit what she’d hoped.
The lonely echoes of an empty heart would forevermore be her constant companion.
She went to the pail of clear water set next to the fire. There was a wooden ladle inside, and Alodie availed herself of a long drink.
Eyes closed, she took a deep breath, letting the coolness settle in her stomach. She imagined the water radiating outward, calming the fibers of her muscles, soothing the aches, and gently easing the weariness.
Without quite meaning to, she found herself leaning over. Please, whatever she saw reflected back at her, let it not resemble the jarl.
Hardly daring to breathe, she opened her eyes, peering over the edge into the surface of the water. For a long time, she stared at the reflection. She reached up and touched her face.
Sadness had always clung to her mother—once Alodie had been old enough to understand. As a child, she’d felt it, but only as she’d grown had she found a name for it.
With her, her mother had been warm. Affectionate. There had been embraces aplenty. Tears and wounds soothed by running into her mother’s open arms. They’d shared a small bed and she’d slept in her mother’s arms, lulled to sleep by the gentle breathing. Once, her mother had even kissed her atop her head and said, “We’re supposed to love God first, above all else, and yet He gives us the gift of such impossible love for our children.”
She’d never doubted her mother cherished her. But what else had her mother seen when she’d looked into Alodie’s face? The terror of that vile heathen demon inflicting unimaginable horror—
Birna returned, making Alodie jump back. The woman’s expression was troubled. But when she saw Alodie, her face relaxed into a smile. “Do you weave?”
Alodie set the ladle back into the water and glanced to the contraption standing adjacent to the door. It was a simple question, but the response took a short span to form. Her mind was elsewhere. Her heart too, if she were truthful. Had there ever been any part of him that had been real?
Yes. The man who’d mourned his companion. The man who’d bolstered the youth by letting him win their fight without making young Hrolf aware of the deception—harmless deception, but deception nonetheless. The man who showed every sign of being able to be the leader the others so clearly craved.
And the heat between them. The way he’d looked at her…had it been no more than simple lust?
The idea cut. Maybe it had been for him like it had been for her and the blacksmith. Mere curiosity.
Birna gave her an encouraging nod. Alodie shook her head, inhaled a long breath, and let it out again slowly to set herself to rights. There was a whole world here that needed attending. If she wanted to think, she could keep her hands busy while she did so.
Right. Busy. With…oh, yes. Weaving. Weaving. She had to think about weaving. “Do I weave? Forgive me, no. No, I do not.”
The other woman brightened. “Let me show you.”
They stood together before the loom. Alodie had never had to pay much mind to such matters back home. She’d had other duties.
“It looks complicated.”
“There’s nothing to it. You’ll see. And few things are as relaxing and rewarding. Whenever my mind is troubled, this is where I come and spend a little extra time.”
Alodie touched the part of the fabric that had already been woven. The fiber had not been dyed, but was woven from varied shades of wool, everything from creamy white to almost black.
“It’s a pretty pattern.”
“Here, look.” Birna put her fingers under the threads and pulled them forward and pointed with her other hand. “They pass over this one here then under several more. That makes these diagonal parallel ribs.”
“I’m…” Alodie studied the arrangement. Until a moment ago, it hadn’t looked quite so complicated. “Not sure I do quite see.”
“It will make more sense when I show you. First, don’t worry about the process of arranging the threads. All you need to do is worry about these rods, this comb, and this…” She picked up what apparently was not a stray stick smoothed flat on either side. “Batten.”
When Alodie had accomplished a few snug rows, Birna smiled warmly. “It will be a while before it doesn’t take so much attention. Practice a little every day and you’ll get there sooner than you think.”
The older woman had a way about her. She wasn’t only skilled, knowledgeable, and level-headed, but motherly and welcoming. The type of person whose good opinion mattered. It was easy to want to please her.
The morning grew late. They’d not been disturbed since Thorvald had come up. At first, every little rustle outside the door sent Alodie’s heart tumbling about in various directions. Spiraling into confusion or raising in hope, then invariably sinking again when it turned out to be nothing more particular than the everyday noises of the outdoors.
While Alodie practiced, Birna stood by with her spindle in her hands, from time to time offering gentle advice and encouragement.
“You take a rest.” Birna brought a stool over. “And I’ll have a turn.”
“I don’t mind—”
Birna waved at her. “You’re not here to wear yourself to the bone. There will be plenty to do, mark my word.”
“I’m used to working hard. I like it.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Nevertheless, Birna shooed her away from the loom.
Once she’d taken the seat, Alodie’s feet declared their gratitude for the respite. Maybe those days at sea had made her soft. In her old life, there had always been something to do. Taking a day of rest meant being too ill to work.